Chapter 13 #2
“Oh, yeah,” the younger Alex says. “Our uncle Derek is old, he’s like forty-something, and he plays hockey with a bunch of his buddies.
We go watch them sometimes. They’re hilarious.
They cuss and give each other shit. One time they had a bet going on how long the goalie could go before saying the word ‘fuck’.
Then every time he said it, he had to buy another pizza after the game. ”
The boys are all laughing at the memory, and Alex chuckles. I can feel my grin. Our hockey will be like that, only way more fun.
“Hockey is hockey,” Matt says. “It’s always good. Pro hockey is great, but hockey can always be fun to watch, especially if someone’s playing that you really like and know.”
“We used to have to go watch Alex play,” Austin says, nudging his little brother.
“His team was terrible, but we just found ways to make that fun. We had a special scoring system that we kept track of. Every shot on goal Alex took, he got a point. Every assist was two. If he got a takeaway, he got three. Goals were four. The points rolled over game to game. Every five points, he got a treat at the store, and every ten points, he got to choose something at home. Like where we all went to dinner, or what chore he wanted to trade with one of us, or what movie we’d watch on movie night. ”
Alex is listening intently. He nods. “That’s very cool of you, as brothers. You made it fun for him and gave him an incentive to work on his game, even if it was a little frustrating at times with the whole team.”
“Keeping track of his stats and coming up with things he could get for his points made watching it more fun for us too,” Matt says.
“I like that a lot. Good job,” Alex tells them.
The boys all beam proudly.
“I’ll tell you what, you keep looking up the Revelers.” He spells Revelers for them. “I don’t know when stuff will start showing up online, but it’s coming. You keep watch, then you tell all your friends that they need to watch us too.”
The boys nod eagerly. “Okay! Sure, of course.”
“I’ve got another idea,” Alex says. “I’m going to put together some game day baskets.
T-shirts, snacks, swag. You guys email our office—when it gets up online—and I’ll send you one of the first. Then you can put together a watch party.
You post about that online—photos of you and your family and friends watching us play—and tag me so I can check it out, okay?
I’ll send you some signed Revelers stuff, too. When we get it.”
He glances at me again with a questioning look.
I’m staring at him stupidly.
That’s all an amazing idea. My mind is spinning with ideas for the baskets and to-do lists, like getting an organization email for this, and what hashtags we should use and encourage others to use.
“Nora?” Alex asks.
“Yeah?”
“We’ll have merch I can sign for these guys, right?”
I shake myself out of my Alex-Olsen-is-amazing daze and my planning haze. “Yes! Yes, definitely.”
“Great.” He grins at the boys. “Then be sure to stay in touch, okay? Just mention your names and Jackson Square, and I’ll remember you.”
The boys have so many stars in their eyes, I’m not sure they can actually see Alex.
“Definitely!” Matt gushes.
“Can’t wait!” young Alex says.
Then Alex asks, “Would you guys want some photos right now? Wait, do you guys have social media?”
Matt laughs. “Of course.”
“Okay, let’s get some photos tonight for you to post.”
Matt, Austin, and Alex all pull their phones out, quickly swiping to open the camera apps.
“Okay, I want one with each of you and then all four of us together,” Alex says.
The boys take individual photos of each other, but when it comes time for all four of them to be in the photo with Alex, I step forward. “Here, I’ve got it.”
Adult Alex pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Get a few with mine too.”
I do, my chest feeling warm as I focus on the four hockey lovers in the frame. The boys are radiant. Alex looks proud and actually excited.
I haven’t seen that expression on him yet.
Alex needed this. He’s not getting this in Rebel right now, and I’m frustrated with my hometown.
Alex is used to being a star. He’s used to being recognized like this when he’s out and about in Portland.
He’s used to people wanting to talk to him and get photos with him.
He has a signature that people treasure.
Hell, his signature has probably sold for a few thousand dollars. Maybe more.
Then he moves to a small town in Louisiana to help save our hockey team, and they all treat him like he’s Public Enemy number one.
But even though Alex claims that all he knows how to do is play hockey, I can see that’s not entirely true. Sure, he likes the attention from these three boys, but he’s making them feel pretty great too.
“Now one with the two of us.” Alex is holding his arm toward me.
“What do you mean?”
He grabs my wrist and pulls me up against his body, wrapping his arm around me again.
“Take a photo of me and Nora and include it when you post the other photos tonight,” he tells the boys.
The boys lift their phones and snap photos of Alex grinning at them and me looking up at him with a few obvious stars in my eyes too, I’m sure.
“How should we caption this one?” Austin asks.
“Alex and his girlfriend, Nora,” Alex says.
Their eyes widen, but they quickly type it in.
Finally, with all of that finished, Alex says, “Okay, guys, it was really nice to meet you.”
“Oh my God, it was great to meet you,” Matt says.
“Thanks. Be sure you keep an eye out for the Revelers.”
The boys promise to, and go running across the square to rejoin their parents.
“That was really great,” I say, watching them disappear in the crowd.
“It was.” He retrieves our bag of dessert, then links his fingers with mine as we start walking back across the square.
“I mean you were great with them.” He’d made those boys’ nights. Maybe their trip to New Orleans. There’s plenty about this city that excites visitors, but those boys are of an age that meeting a professional athlete they admire probably outweighs any museum, jazz band, or even spooky ghost tour.
He looks in the direction they disappeared. “Thanks. They were…” He shrugs. “That was just really nice to run into some fans.”
“That must happen a lot in Portland.” That won’t happen much here, I realize. Even without Rebel being particularly unwelcoming, most of the New Orleans hockey fans will be fans of the local team, I’m sure.
So, we’ve not only taken him away from his really nice penthouse—yes, Ruth showed me the photos in Hockey Hunks—and his really nice cars—yes, those were in that article too and are a far cry from the truck that Astrid procured for him.
We’ve also taken him away from his fan base.
A guy who thinks all he’s good at is hockey at a time when his pro hockey career has been derailed because of an injury and a long, ultimately not fully productive rehab.
I found that part out with some online searching of my own.
I couldn’t help it. It’s not every day a girl has a date with a guy she can get an entire background on via her phone.
Oh, sure, you can get arrest reports, but while those are definitely important to find ahead of time, even those don’t tell the whole story.
Not like the plethora of information, photos, quotes, and stats I found on Alexander D.
Olsen, number fourteen, the six-foot-three-inch, two-hundred-and-ten pound center for the Portland Grays.
“I do,” Alex says of being spotted out and about by fans in Portland.
“Do you like that or not?”
He hesitates as if he’s not sure how he should answer. He looks at me. “I like it. Kind of a lot.”
I smile. “That’s a good thing then.”
He goes on. “I know that sounds like I just like having my ego stroked, and that’s not bad, but it’s really just that I like knowing people like what I do.
Since that’s my whole life, what I give all my time and attention to, it would suck if I’d put all these years and all this work in and no one gave a shit, you know? ”
“It’s your whole life?” I repeat.
“Pretty much. It’s my job, so my days are spent in workouts and practice.
Even what I eat is chosen to make me the best hockey player I can be.
Even when I’m out and about socially, I’m still Alex Olsen Number Fourteen.
Which has gotten me endorsement deals. Which also fills my time—commercial shoots, being spotted out wearing things or doing things for the brands, and just being me, so they want me to represent their brand.
All of that has to do with me being a hockey player. ”
I frown as I realize this feels weirdly familiar. “What about when you’re with your friends or family? Just at home relaxing?”
“When I’m with my family, it’s a little less…obvious. But we still talk hockey. And my friends are all in the hockey world.”
“What about your girlfriends?”
He looks at me with an eyebrow up. “The women I’ve dated are women I never would have even met, not to mention gotten their numbers, if I wasn’t a hockey star. And they really like the things that come with hockey. The parties, the other famous people they can rub elbows with, the money.”
I frown. I suddenly hate all of his exes and not just because they got to have naked Alex time. Yes, that too—definitely—but also because they were only with him because he’s a hockey player.
Then it hits me.
You’re with him because he’s a hockey player.
Oh.
Damn.
I would have never met him if he wasn’t a hockey player. I wouldn’t have agreed to “date” him if I didn’t need him to be a popular hockey player in Rebel. I do need him because he’s a star hockey player…
Dammit.
I’m using him for his hockey-star-ness, too.
I meet his gaze. I don’t want to use him for that. But it’s inescapable. The Revelers need to be great, and I know Alex can make them that.